


Bite the (metaphorical) Bullet

by fruitstripegum



Series: For One Night and the Rest of Them [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, All Human AU, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Derek doesn't know how to do one night stands, Feels, Fingering, M/M, One Night Stand, Rimming, Sex, Shower Sex, Smut, stiles is a go-go dancer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 10:20:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4259679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fruitstripegum/pseuds/fruitstripegum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AKA the one where Laura threatens Derek with bodily harm if he doesn't go out and pull some tail, Derek doesn't know the rules of one night stands, and Beacon Hills is a small town.</p><p>After Derek is dumped by his long-term boyfriend, he goes to the Jungle to try to forget and meets go-go dancer Stiles. They head back to his loft and Derek doesn't know how to do one night stands. Feels ensue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bite the (metaphorical) Bullet

**Author's Note:**

> For clarity's sake: I really like Parrish's character in the TV show, but for the purposes of this fic, I needed a bad guy and he's the first one that popped into my head.
> 
> I tagged everything I could think of, but if I missed something, let me know.
> 
> This is un-beta'd because I have no friends that wouldn't laugh at me for writing fanfic.
> 
> Based on this prompt:
> 
>  

 

After Laura kicks him out of his apartment for what she’s calling a fun night out with Danny (but Derek is calling punishment), Derek makes his way down the short walk from his industrial loft to the warehouse that houses The Jungle, Beacon County’s premiere gay club. He waits in the short line for about ten minutes before Danny comes through the solid metal door, bounding past the bouncer to grab Derek’s muscular upper arm, screaming ‘this one’s with me!’ as he all but drags Derek into the club with him.

 

Danny is in a pair of high-waist booty shorts and a crop top, a pair of neon rainbow suspenders and rolled over Chuck Taylor’s complete the look. He’s sweaty enough that Derek knows he’s been here a while, dancing and drinking and probably doing a little bit of party drugs. Derek takes in the heavy base beat and artificial fog and laser light show while he follows dutifully behind his friend whose hand has migrated down Derek’s arm to his own hand and is tugging him along like Derek’s a lost puppy. Actually, the analogy isn’t so far from the truth.

 

After three years of what Derek had thought was a loving, committed relationship, his ex – Jordan – had left him… for a woman. Derek had lain around his apartment for the past week trying to wrap his head around those last tense moments before Jordan left the loft, never to return. He’d come home from work to a small pile of boxes by the front door. Derek had asked if they were redecorating or getting rid of some things they never used and Jordan had rubbed the back of his neck with his palm as he looked down and said he was leaving. _“I wanted to be out by the time you got home but my shift ended late.”_ He’d said. The love of his life had planned to move out of their shared home without even saying goodbye.

 

Derek thought he had every right to lay in the mostly empty loft and eat his weight in ice cream and Jack Daniels, but Laura and Cora had shown up with new sheets, a few cans of paint and a slew of chick flicks and convinced him that making the space his instead of _theirs_ would kickstart the healing process. When _that_ had proved worthless – although Derek had to admit that the new colors on the few walls the loft had were great choices, and the bed no longer smelled of _him_ with the new sheets – Laura had pulled him off the couch two hours earlier, all but pushed him into the shower, and told him in no uncertain terms that he was going out with Danny tonight and he was going to enjoy himself.

 

They stop at the bar in the middle of the crowded dance floor and Danny orders them a round of shots and some Long Islands, winks at the bartender as he shoves a tip into the tip jar, curling his fingers inside the flared rim of the carafe suggestively, and continues to pull Derek over to the far end of the club where the VIP booths were.

 

“We got a table!” Danny yells back over his shoulder. He kisses his boyfriend Ethan quickly as Derek seats himself and tries not to let that chaste act cause a twinge in his heart. He’ll never give Jordan a quick kiss like that again.

 

“Did you see anything you like on the way over here?” Ethan asks, smiling.

 

“What?” Derek is a master of words.

 

“Come on, Der!” Danny whines. “There’s a sea of hot, available ass out there on the dance floor! Why do you think we stopped at the bar? We have bottle service with the table!”

 

“I guess I’m not in the habit of looking,” Derek mumbles, more to himself than anyone else, but Ethan is close enough to hear him anyway and lifts his chin up before pointing out to the writhing mass of bodies.

 

“It’s time to start again, then,” he tells him kindly.

 

Derek’s Long Island goes down faster than he would normally drink it and combines with the shot he’d taken at the bar to spread warmth out from his stomach to his limbs, loosening the muscles he hadn’t even know were so tightly coiled. The cocktail waitress comes by a few minutes later with a fresh round of drinks for the table and Derek slugs the lowball of vodka sprite down quickly as Danny and Ethan drag him out to the dance floor after they’ve deemed him ‘drunk enough.’

 

They wade into the sea of bodies and sandwich him between them as they dance, Danny at his front, Ethan at his back. The beat is pulsing in his ears as he moves his body in time with the music. He’s feeling lighter than he has in a week and a smile plays at the corner of his lips. After a few songs, they head back to their table to refuel before they migrate to another part of the dance floor below the cages of go-go dancers in furry boots and hot shorts.

 

Derek gets jostled when he stops to stare at one of the dancers – he’s long and lean, his arms wrapped in wiry muscle, and he throws his head back as he grips the cage, exposing the long line of his neck and a constellation of beauty marks that cascade from a groomed sideburn down a sharp jaw and onto a milky neck shining with sweat and flushed with exertion. Derek’s stood still for a second too long and the guy catches him staring, slightly slack jawed, at the precise moment someone bumps into him from behind and it takes every ounce of Derek’s not inconsiderable balance to keep him from sprawling flat on the dirty dance floor where he would most likely die from shame if not exposure from whatever universal filth covered the floors of clubs.

 

The dancer smiles at him like he knows some sort of secret before Danny comes back to claim him and pulls him to the spot he and Ethan have claimed. This time, Ethan and Danny have eyes only for each other and Derek is left to hover as he dances like a rave moon orbiting a planet occupied by only the two lovers. He dances with a few guys but turns others away for looking too much like Jordan. Whether he came to Jungle of his own volition or his sister’s threats of dismemberment, he was here to have a good time, damn it, and he wasn’t going to let anything bring him down.

 

They keep a good cycle going of dancing and hydrating and dancing and drinking and before Derek knows it, it’s 1:30 and he’s been having a great time all night. They’ve returned to the VIP table, Derek’s buzz still riding high. Danny disappears for a short while after whispering to his boyfriend and Ethan smirks at Derek and talks to him about inconsequential things while they wait for Danny to return. He doesn’t come back empty handed.

 

“Derek, this is Stiles – we went to high school together!” Danny steps back to reveal _the dancer_ , who has changed out of his hot shorts and fur boots and into something with at least three times as much fabric but no more sense of coverage. The dancer’s, _Stiles’_ , jeans look like they’ve been painted on they’re so tight, and his bright yellow tank top glows brightly under the black light as he steps forward to shake Derek’s hand.

 

“It’s nice to meet you,” he yells over the din of the electronic music.

 

Stiles joins them at the table, sliding close to Derek on the booth’s seat as they get to know each other just a little bit. Stile’s informs Derek that he’s just finished his undergrad and moved back home to cut costs and keep and eye on his dad.

 

“It’s lame, I know,” he laughs, “but I’m in the catch twenty-two of ‘can’t get experience without previous work and can’t get a job without experience’ so I’m doing some freelance graphic design and I work here a couple nights a week. The tips are great, and I’d probably be here anyway so why not make some money while I’m at it?”

 

Derek is not so subtly cataloging every inch of Stiles as he talks, appreciating every bit of what he sees. He’s just drunk enough for the words, “do you want to get out of here?” to come out of his mouth as easily as breathing. Stiles smiles and nods, then moves to get up and slaps Danny’s shoulder fondly. Derek thinks he might hear Stiles tell Danny something about owing him forever, but he could also just be hearing things.

 

He boldly takes Stiles’ hand as he leads him out of the club, the cool air doing its work to clear his head during the short walk back to his loft. He could turn around and apologize to Stiles, tell him he’s made a mistake and offer to drive him back to his car before they even make it to the stairwell, but he realizes he doesn’t want to go home alone and more than that, _wants_ to go home with Stiles to do whatever they want.

 

Derek’s nervously fumbling his key in the lock as they stand outside his door when a warm hand steadies his and he looks up into amber eyes that look like they’re lit from within.

 

“Hey man,” Stiles’ voice is soothing and sure, “if you’re having second thoughts, that’s cool.”

 

“I’m not,” Derek assures him. “I just haven’t done this, like, ever.”

 

“You’ve never been with a guy before?” Stiles asks, surprise coloring his tone.

 

“No of course I have,” Derek rushes. “I just haven’t done the whole ‘meet super hot go-go dancer, take said dancer home, have full night of earth shattering shenanigans’ thing.”

 

“And who will be doing this earth shattering?” Stiles smirks as Derek’s key finds it’s home and the door slides open.

 

“I’m down for whatever,” he breathes as he turns to lick his way into Stile’s mouth and drags him into the loft.

 

They stumble their way blindly to the bed beneath the large bank of windows, lips crashing together, tongues sliding in and out of mouths, _claiming_ , only breaking apart to remove an item of clothing until they’re both in their boxer briefs: Derek’s plain black, Stiles’ bright red and covered in a repeating pattern of curly fries. Or were they onion rings?

 

Stiles laughs and switches his weight from foot to foot as he says, “I wasn’t exactly expecting to go home with someone tonight.”

 

“Those are awesome,” Derek breathes.

 

His breath hitches as Stiles palms his erection through his boxers, squeezing tight at the base as he licks a stripe along Derek’s stubbly jaw to his ear and whispers, “I want you to fuck me _so bad_.”

 

Derek coughs and stutters for a moment, taken aback. Stiles pulls back but keeps his face close to Derek’s.

 

“Do you not like to top?” he asks.

 

“No, I enjoy topping as much as bottoming,” Derek breathes, his eyes blown with arousal.

 

“Me too, dude,” Stiles smirks, his pouty lips wet with his and Derek’s combined spit.

 

“I just,” Derek feels the need to explain, “my ex, he didn’t ever want to switch so I haven’t topped in a while.”

 

“That’s cool, man,” Stiles assures him, pressing a series of languid kisses all across Derek’s mouth and neck. “I can get myself ready if you want.”

 

“No!” Derek all but cries. “I want to – _god_ I want to…”

 

“You want to what, big guy?” Stiles asks, rubbing Derek’s stiff cock through the fabric.

 

“God,” Derek huffs, “I want to open you up – _hnngg_ – with my fingers and my tongue—“

 

Stiles moans at the crux of Derek’s neck and shoulder as he sucks a dark mark into his skin. Derek slips his hands into the back of Stiles’ boxers and cups his firm ass before pushing the offending underwear down past his knees. Stiles’ dick is in line with the rest of his body, long and bigger than you’d think when he’s in clothes. There’s a thick vein running the length of him and Derek teases at his head, coating his fingers in precome before fisting Stile’s length and giving it a few solid pumps.

 

“Oh my _god_ get me on the bed,” Stiles moans, “now.”

 

Derek apparently takes too long to accomplish this because Stiles shoves him playfully and kicks his pants the rest of the way off and heads to the bed, his knees sinking in to the deep purple duvet moments before his hands do. The look he throws over his shoulder should be illegal, Derek thinks as he rushes up behind him, spreading his ass apart and diving in to lick at the flushed pink hole.

 

He rims him expertly despite the length of time between now and the last time he’d had the pleasure of doing this act, and Stiles is so responsive when he slips in a finger, squirming and moaning and keeping up and almost constant litany of filthy words and sentences as Derek eats him out, stretches him open.

 

“Fuck, Derek, I could come like this,” he breathes into the bed. He’s dropped from his hands to his forearms, cheek resting against the soft duvet, ass high in the air.

 

“I could come like this,” he repeats, moaning obscenely, “but I want to come with your cock buried inside me.”

 

Derek is steadily pumping two fingers in and out as he continues to lick the unfurling rim. He continues to finger him as he lifts his head and reaches for the draw that holds the lube and condoms.

 

“Just one more finger,” Derek promises as he withdraws his fingers and coats them liberally in slick lubricant. Stiles whines at the loss momentarily before Derek slowly pushes three fingers into him. He groans in appreciation when Derek curls his fingers and finds Stiles’ prostate, rubbing once, twice, before Stiles swings his arm wildly behind him, swatting at Derek’s wrist.

 

“Your dick. My ass. _Now_.”

 

Derek grabs Stiles by his hips and flips him onto his back, grabbing a pillow to angle him as Stiles rips open a condom and jerks him off before rolling it down Derek’s length.

 

“Fuck,” he breathes. “I’m gonna be so good for you, Der.”

 

Derek exhales sharply as he lines himself up at Stiles’ fluttering entrance. He slips his head in and stills at the intense heat engulfing him. He’s still for too long, apparently; Stiles reaches down past his own hips for Derek’s muscled thighs and his hands ghost up to Derek’s ass before he grabs for purchase and pulls _hard_ , slamming Derek into him until his hips are flush with Stiles’ ass cheeks.

 

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Derek moans.

 

“I prefer ‘Stiles.’”

 

Derek tweaks Stiles’ nipple as he withdraws almost completely before slamming home again, sheathing himself in tight heat. He grabs Stiles’ hip in one hand, his cock in the other, jerking him in time with his thrusts as he sets a fast, insistent rhythm.

 

“Fuck, Der, tell me you’re close.”

 

“God I’m so fucking close,” Derek grunts as he thrusts, growling with the effort it takes to keep his body from coming apart at the seams. He wants Stiles to come first, wants to know he’s satisfied his partner before he allows himself to get off.

 

The growl is what sends Stiles over the edge, his hot come hitting Derek’s fist and his own chest as he gasps. Derek follows not two seconds after, the grip of Stiles’ ass sending him careening over the edge into starry eyed bliss.

 

When he comes back to himself, he’s lying next to Stiles, spent, exhausted, and sticky from his night at the club and their more recent activities. They stay in the moment for a while, breathing in sync, Stiles quiet for once in the short time Derek’s known him. And then it breaks.

 

“I’m disgusting,” Stiles laughs.

 

“Me too, want to take a shower?”

 

Derek leads Stiles to the large master bathroom, up the spiral staircase, and grabs a stack of fluffy towels, setting them down on a teak bench before he turns on the taps and the room begins to steam up.

 

“Dude, this _entire room_ is a shower?” Stiles asks, incredulous.

 

It is. When Derek had bought the loft, he hadn’t known what to do with the small space above the rest of the apartment. The previous owner had used it as a studio space. It’s wasn’t terribly large, and Derek didn’t paint, so he’d hired a contractor to turn it into a large bathroom. The walls and ceiling are covered in a neutral soapstone tile and long windows were placed _just so,_ so that you could look out into the loft below from the bathroom, but no one from the floor below could see in. Double sinks and a toilet sat against opposing walls. An enormous rainfall  showerhead hung from the center of the ceiling and the floor sloped ever so slightly to direct the water to a drain below the far wall.

 

Derek turns to take in whatever expression comes with the awe in Stiles’ voice and the sight of him thoroughly debauched, covered in come, mouth slack with wonderment, went straight to his dick in what was surely the quickest refractory period he’d had in years. Stiles noticed as Derek’s cock filled and jumped against his stomach; he licked his lips in anticipation.

 

“Let me taste you?” Stiles asked as he stalked closer to Derek, gracefully kneeling down at his feet before grabbing the base of Derek’s dick and licking from where his fingers circled Derek’s girth to the crown, his tongue teasing Derek’s slit obscenely as precome bubbled out. “God you taste _so fucking good_.”

 

Derek’s shoulders blocked Stiles face from the spray of the hot water as he bobbed and sucked and licked and fondled. Derek’s will was tested as he tried to figure out what he could do to occupy his hands to keep from grabbing Stiles by the back of his head with one hand, the other shoving into his mouth alongside his dick as he fucked his face. God he wanted to do that so badly, but he also wanted to enjoy the feeling of Stiles’ tongue on the underside of his dick as it rolled and curled and Derek was actually losing his ability to form words in his mind as Stiles continued sucking him off.

 

He grabs the bottle of shampoo from the ledge and poured some into his palm. He lathers the shampoo into Stiles’ wet hair, fingernails scratching on his scalp as he keeps blowing him. Stiles moans around his dick before he pulls off with an obscene pop Derek’s certain he’s only ever heard in porn.

 

“What are you doing?” Stiles asks, stroking Derek’s cock with his hand as the other one cups his own hard member.

 

“I didn’t know what to do with my hands, so…” Derek trailed off.

 

“Oh, well,” Stiles smiles against Derek’s hip, letting the water wash away the soap. “Very polite.”

 

It’s all the warning he gets before Stiles’ mouth is on him again, swallowing him down to the base, tongue poking out to flick against Derek’s balls momentarily before he pulls back to lick circles into the underside of Derek’s head.

 

Derek can feel his balls tightening, the thick coil of heat at the base of his torso getting ready to explode. Stiles is pumping his own cock in no-nonsense strokes as Derek looks down and the picture is enough to bring him to the brink again.

 

“Stiles I’m gonna come,” he warns.

 

Stiles moans loudly, eyes rolling back in his head, and that’s all it takes before Derek’s coming into Stiles’ mouth and Stiles swallows him down as he comes, too, stroking them both through their orgasms after he pulls off, his head resting against one of Derek’s legs, which now feel like jello.

 

Stiles stands and they rinse and fondle and kiss and Stiles slaps Derek’s ass playfully when he turns to shut the taps off and hands him a warm towel. Once they’ve dried off, they wrap their towels around their waists and head back down the spiral staircase. Derek grabs a couple bottles of water from the fridge and takes them back to the bed, where Stiles is sitting up leaning his back against the pillows.

 

“I don’t exactly know the protocol,” Derek admits as he hands one of the bottles to Stiles. “I’ve never invited someone over the night I met them for sex and showers.”

 

“And shower sex, don’t forget that,” Stiles smiles around the bottle of water before he takes a long pull of the cold liquid.

 

“Ah, yes, how could I forget that?” Derek muses. “Maybe it’s because you _blew_ my mind.”

 

“He’s got jokes, folks!” Stiles quips.

 

“I’ve got more than that,” Derek informs him with a small smile. “Like I said, I don’t know the protocol here. I’m not used to one night stands.”

 

He settles on his side of the bed, his position mirroring Stiles and he looks like he belongs there so much it makes Derek’s heart clench a little bit.

 

“I want to get to know you,” Stiles admits quietly. “I don’t want this to be a one time thing.”

 

“I don’t want that either,” Derek agrees. He laughs to himself. “I don’t even know your last name.”

 

“Stilinski,” Stiles informs him. Derek stiffens immediately.

 

“You’re the Sheriff’s kid?”

 

“Yeah,” Stiles affirms warily, “Why are you some kind of murder suspect?”

 

“No,” Derek assures him. “It’s just, my ex is one of your father’s deputies.”

 

“Oh man, not you too! My friend Lydia just broke up with Parrish because they started seeing each other a few months ago and he neglected to inform her that she was the other woman.”

 

Derek freezes, the water bottle halfway to his lips. He starts breathing too rapidly.

 

“Whoa, Der, Derek, are you okay?” Stiles asks, moving to his knees to check on him. “Do you get panic attacks?”

 

“Not – not usually,” Derek manages through shallow breaths.

 

“Hey, hey, was it something I said?”

 

“I just,” Derek begins. “Jor- Jordan’s my—“

 

“Oh _shit_ , I’m sorry. I had no clue! God, what a small fucking world. I swear to god, Derek, I didn’t know. And Lydia’s a good person. She had no clue he was with someone else and she broke it off immediately when she found out.”

 

Derek’s rapid breathing starts to even out after a few minutes of awkward silence. When he’s sure Derek isn’t going to pass out, Stiles gets up and searches around for his discarded clothes.

 

“I’ll just get out of here,” Stiles mumbles as he slips his boxers on, stepping into his jeans shortly after.

 

“Stiles, wait.” Derek’s hand is on his wrist where he’s moved to button up his fly. “It’s just. I was with him for three years. He left me a week ago. I know this is a lot to put on you the first night and I understand if you want to go and never want to call me again.” He huffs a breath, collecting his thoughts. “I like you. At least what I know of you so far: you’re smart, sexy as hell, confident, snarky – I could go on.”

 

“Don’t stop on my account,” Stiles smiles, looking up at him from under his lashes.

 

“What I’m saying is, I’d like to see where things go? And, if you’re up for it, I’d like to make you breakfast.”

 

“Make it brunch and we have a deal,” Stiles smirks, undoing the buttons he’d managed to fasten and dropping his jeans back to the floor.

 

Stiles and Derek climb into bed and Derek shuts the light off. They come together in the center of the bed and fit together perfectly, Derek on his back and Stiles under his arm, his head resting on Derek’s chest. It’s impossible to not draw comparisons between him and Jordan. Stiles is warm and comforting and affectionate. Derek had always had to seek out and coerce affection from Jordan, who would sleep as far as possible on his side of the bed.

 

Derek kisses Stiles’ head as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. Hearing Stiles’ contented sigh, he thinks, _maybe it is_.

**Author's Note:**

> Stiles boxers referenced in this drabble are here:
> 
> http://www.ae.com/web/browse/product_details.jsp?productId=0235_1402_600&catId=cat4430018
> 
> I literally googled curly fries boxers and this is what i got.


End file.
